


Chemical Soldier

by Soulfulbard



Category: RWBY, World of Ere
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Fantasy Superheros, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 04:25:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10563657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulfulbard/pseuds/Soulfulbard
Summary: Years ago, there was a hero in the Principality of Abierda who turned science against the foes of the people. His time has passed, but the time of those foes has come again. Now it falls to the apprentice of the Court Alchemist, the Crown Princess, and a grumpy old man to save their country. Arkos. Might become M later.





	

Ten Years Ago...

Villem Strous crouched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking one of the larger thoroughfares of the city of Ierda and lifted a spyglass to his eye. The royal procession for the Feast of Founding was just under a half mile away and slowly winding it way toward his location.

He quickly used the signal mirror he'd been given to flash this information to his compatriots down in the crowd. Then he took a moment to check his crossbow again. He'd never fired one before a week earlier when he was recruited and he was still nervous about the device working properly if it was needed.

Then he settled in to watch and wait, which gave him time to think. The Nikos line had ruled the Principality of Abierda for twenty-three years to the day; from the the time Apollo Nikos united the two smaller principalities of Abellor and Ierdia under his banner to this day when Strous and his fellow like-minded citizens slew Apollo's son Sidero Nikos, his wife Melanie, and his sole heir Pyrrha.

With no line of succession, they would be able to put someone more sympathetic to their interests on the throne. It wasn't as if King Nov II, High King of Novrom, to whom the Principality of Abierda paid fealty would object. It had been his father's decree that the regions of his kingdom should govern themselves as long as they paid proper tribute and pledged their soldiers to the service of the realm as a whole. So the High King in Kinos controlled his city and the roads while everything else was a political free-for-all with nations rising and falling faster than it took some livestock to mature as they made war, forged alliances and in some cases simply went to seed.

Now it was the time for his group to rewrite the boarders and becomes kings of their own little fiefdoms. All it might cost him was one little squeeze of a trigger...

Which never happened because in the next moment, Villem's entire world became focused on the dark red metal blade protruding from his chest, pinning him to the slate tiles he;d been crouched on. Then his whole world faded to black and ended.

Qrow Branwen put a boot on the dead man's back and pulled his weapon free with a squelch. Blood pooled and ran freely down the tiles. He flicked the excess gore from the blade with a disdainful huff before setting his sights on the crowd below and the approaching procession.

He'd been spending the last half hour watching the signal mirror communications from another rooftop, getting a feel for the numbers and positions of the opposition. By his count, there were two groups of four arrays on either side of the road just below where he was standing. They were all poorly concealing gladiuses and crossbows as they tried to blend in with the crowd.

None were really soldiers or even mercenaries if he was capable at all of taking their measure. Judging by the rumors that led him to this particular rooftop, kneeling over this particular cooling corpse, they were all foreign merchants upset that King Sidero wasn't receptive to their brand of corruption.

It felt too easy, but then real life wasn't like the dime novels where every conspiracy was incredibly competent and dangerous. Sometimes they were made up of a bunch of men with too much ambition and not enough ability to judge their own capability.

As the royal procession drew closer, the would-be assassins started to close ranks, pushing toward the street. The royal guard; six men on horseback, another six on foot, surrounded the the white lacquered royal carriage, but none of them seemed to notice what was happening ahead of them.

One by one, the conspirators pushed free of the crowd's press and took aim with their crossbows. Qrow pulled down the metal mask that covered the top half of his face and started to move, but it was too late: one horse screamed and reared, then another and another. Someone in the conspiracy was smart: instead of trying to kill armored men with one-shot weapons, they shot the horses who if they didn't die, panicked and threw their riders, sending the procession into chaos.

In three loping steps, Qrow leapt from the roof, sword raised. The tiles cracked where he pushed off, a substance applied to the soles of his shoes channeling all the force of his leap into carrying him forward. He timed himself perfectly, hitting the pavers behind one of the attackers with enough force to create two small craters under his feet while putting all his force into a downward swing.

At the same time, he pulled a trigger in the sword's hilt, releasing a pressurized canister that forced a powerful acid out through minute pores along the weapon's edge. The blade split the man from shoulder to hip, leaving two mangled, hissing halves to collapse on the street.

A shout went up among the crowd, but his mostly heard those of the conspirators nearby as they called out a belated warning. He took one hand off his sword and dropped on hand to his side, using his two middle fingers to work a lever attached to his palm. A tube the length of his middle finger and half again as wide dropped into his hand and he turned, throwing it at the center mass of the first man to come at him with a sword.

The tube hit the assassin in the chest and exploded, the force caving in said chest and hurling the freshly made corpse into the crowd five feet away. He was already out of Qrow's mind as he rushed the next man, easily dodging a clumsy sword strike.

Lashing out with one foot, he slammed the sole of his boot into the man's knee, crushing it and making it bend in the wrong direction. Even as his foe howled in pain, Qrow drove the pommel of his sword into the back of his head as they passed one another, knocking them man cold with dubious chances he'd ever wake again.

The last man was smart enough he had no chance and turned to run, but once more Qrow manipulated the lever in his palm and threw another vial, this one attached to a thin, pale line. The vial struck the runner in the back, releasing a fast-acting adhesive that allowed Qrow to yank him into a backward stumble toward him.

Qrow met him halfway, slipping his blade easily between the man's ribs and out through his chest.

Kicking him off, Qrow turned to find the royal carriage stalled. The captain of the guard, Jay Winchester, had managed to muster two other guardsmen and was throwing open the door to try and get the royal family to safety. Meanwhile, the remaining four conspirators closed in from the other side.

Taking off at a full sprint, Qrow launched himself from ten yards out, stomping the ground to activate the treatment on his boots to hurl himself into the air and onto the top of the carriage. From there, he sprang into the midst of the pair of assassins who reached the carriage first.

The pommel of his sword slammed into one's throat while he snapped a punch into the gut of the other. Reversing his momentum, he brought his sword around and used the acid burst to lop off the head of the latter before stabbing the former in the heart on the back-swing.

Shocked into coming to a full stop by the explosion of violence before him, the next man gawked, barely able to bring his sword on guard. He recognized the mask and it struck terror into his heart. “I-it's you! The Chemical Soldier!”

Qrow showed the man his teeth, but it wasn't a smile. “Always liked the name,” he remarked before hurling a vial that blew the other's arm off and drove him to the ground in a ruined, wailing heap.

With only one known enemy left, Qrow took the time to check behind him and saw a lone guardsman getting the coach door open on that side. “Come, Your Majesty!” he heard the man say, “We'll get you to safety!”

That was all Qrow had time to notice before the final assassin tried his luck running past him in a wide arc, charging with utter desperation toward the opening door. Qrow turned and matched him stride for stride, intercepting him just steps from where Queen Melanie was emerging and dispatch him with a sword through the throat.

As the man sank tot he ground, scrabbling at his neck in a desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood, Qrow turned to offer his assurances to the queen...

And found the guardsman driving a hunting knife into her back.

Qrow Branwen was not just a man loyal to his country. He held the title of Court Alchemist, a position created especially for him because his close friend the then-Prince Sidero Nikos had made an impassioned speech to his father about how much he believed in Qrow and the science he practiced. In he intervening years, he'd become good friends with Melanie as well and as much an uncle to their little girl as he was to his own nieces.

His world turned red.

The guardsman didn't even get a chance to finish driving the knife in before Qrow's palm caught him in the side of the face and with mean force, drove his skull into the carriage's baseboard with a sickening crunch. Again and again, Qrow pounded the man's head into the wood until a frightened whimper took his attention off avenging his friend.

He looked up to find a pair of terrified green eyes peering out through the remains of what had been an elaborately arranged red hairdo that had collapsed in the panic. At first he thought his brutality had frightened her. Then he followed her line of sight to find that she was staring at his mother lying in a growing pool of blood.

And breathing.

His eyes widened. He hadn't even checked. If not for the girl, he might never have thought to do so.

But there was hope.

Hope that the Chemical Soldier could never provide. But Court Alchemist Qrow Branwen might.

Ignoring the swarming guardsmen who had been so useless before, he grabbed up Melanie's prone form and leapt, making for the castle and his lab.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

Now.

Given he ever-present threat of explosion, fire or release of noxious gas, Jaune Arc couldn't fault the king for relegating the rather extensive Royal Alchemy Laboratory to a series of magically excavated chambers deep in the bedrock beneath Castle Ierda.

That didn't mean he appreciated it when he had to lug thirty plus pounds of equipment from what was effectively a sub-sub-basement to one of the highest towers. It didn't help that Abierda was poor in strong magic traditions. Sure, almost anyone could cast a little; Jaune himself could light a fire on command and conjure a handful or two of water if needed, but the knack for powerful magic ran thin in central Novrom. That meant there wasn't anyone available to construct anything even approaching the magical lift systems other kingdoms enjoyed.

So Jaune had to take the steps, dragging along a thick leather case with a big canvas bag hanging from his shoulders. Such was his life once a weak for the past seven years. And he couldn't even curse the job he was doing because he knew how important it was.

The big difference this day, however, was that he didn't have Qrow telling him to pick up the slack every five minutes. Any other time, he'd call that a blessing, but that also meant he'd be undertaking the vitally important duty that only Qrow himself had done previously all by himself. And that left him terrified.

All too soon, despite the seemingly hundreds of stairs and thousands of pounds weighing him down, Jaune emerged from a nondescript side door into an opulently appointed hallway with an arched ceiling and smooth wooden wall panels. Crystal wall sconces held magelights that illuminated everything brighter than day, and every few steps there was a tapestry or painting depicting glorious battle of feats of strength.

At the end of the hall, two royal guardsmen were posted. The elder of the two inclined his head to Jaune as he approached and clutched a fist over his breast as a sign of respect.

Jay Winchester had stepped down as captain of the guard after failing to weed out the traitor in his ranks who very nearly mortally wounded the queen, but remained in service to impart his wisdom on the new generation of guardsmen. He was also one of the scant handful of people who knew how close Queen Melanie had come to death and what it took to keep her alive now. For that reason, he held the Court Alchemist and his apprentice in high regard.

Beside him, the younger guardsman sneered at Jaune. Jay's son, Cardin had no idea what indispensable role Qrow and Jaune played now but he instinctively hated the 'weak' intellectuals and how his father fawned over them. Never mind that Jaune himself had designed and built the heavy mace hanging from the man's side as well as most of the other weapons wielded by the Royal Guard; every one a marvel of modern science.

Jaune merely nodded and returned the elder Winchester's sign of respect before passing through the door they guarded. There was a thick panel of canvas set up beyond that door, designed to further obfuscate the interior. None but a few eyes ever saw the queen's bedchamber under normal circumstances; only five saw them under those that occurred once every week.

Three of the other four were already there and waiting when Jane entered.

“You're late, but given the circumstances you can hardly be blamed for that.” Immediately in front of Jaune as he entered the room were two stern green eyes attached to a voice and presence that had haunted Jaune's nightmares: Glynda Goodwitch.

One of the few full-fledged mages in Abierda, no one knew much about the Good Witch—not even if that was he real name—but she had the trust of the Queen and acted as her right hand and adviser. She also found time to run the daily operations of the castle, which included menacing the castle staff and their children into what she deemed proper behavior. Children like a young Jaune Arc.

By now, it was pure reflex to duck his head. “I'm very sorry Madam Goodwitch.” He didn't try to make excuses; that would only make her angry.

“Don't waste any more time,” she said sharply. “Get on with it. And keep in mind that I will be observing closely, given this is your first time administering the treatment alone.”

Jaune gulped, only to be saved by the husky, melodious voice of the Queen. “Peace, Glynda. The young man has assisted Qrow in this literally hundreds of times now. He has the Court Alchemist's confidence and so has mine as well.”

If only by a tiny margin, Glynda's expression softened and she nodded for Jaune to proceed.

He did so hurriedly if only to avoid being under that gaze any longer. Beyond Glynda, he laid eyes upon the two most powerful women in Abierda.

Of the two, Queen Melanie Nikos looked the part the least. She was wearing the canvas dress made specifically for the treatment and her long red-brown hair hung loose and unstyled, making her look more a pauper than a monarch. It was the way she carried herself; shoulders squared, chin raised, eyes filled with infinite confidence that held the truth of her station even as she sat on a simple stool by the hearth.

Beside her was Princess Pyrrha, looking fully regal in her leather cuirass and red-dyed leather kilt, bronze grieves and bracers, and bronze diadem decorated with emeralds hanging from delicate chains at the sides of her head. Her flame red hair was done up in a high ponytail and still fell to her waist. In her hands was the weapon Jaune considered his masterpiece: Milo, a long sword with a telescoping hilt and uniquely shaped blade such that it could become a spear in an instant thanks to a series of intricate clockworks and springs. The weapon also had a secret: a hollow in the hilt filled with explosive powder packed behind a sphere of adamant steel the size of a plum. It was a single shot, but with the size and power behind it, no human or demihuman armored or not could survive it at close range.

It represented six weeks of work all told and even Qrow and Goodwitch had praised it.

Remembering himself, Jaune touched two fingers to his forehead and curled them downward to the bridge of his nose. The fist over the breast was a salute reserved for warriors while he was meant to use the one meant for the alternatively skilled folk like masons, smiths and yes, alchemists. “Your M-majesties.” he stuttered out.

The Queen shook her head. “Qrow never stood on formalities in private. As you are drawing close to taking his place, it's time you were extended the same courtesy.”

Jaune blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. He'd always assumed Qrow got away with being informal because he was a crusty old bastard who the Queen depended on for survival, not because it was a privilege of his office.

“T-thank you, your... um I'm not sure how to address you now...” Calling her 'Melanie' or even Mel like Qrow did didn't feel right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the princess hide a light laugh behind her hand. She always seemed to do that whenever he was tripped up by some court formality ever since they were children. He had no idea why his suffering amused her so.

The Queen offered him a warm smile. “You ma still call me 'Your Majesty' if that makes you comfortable. But you don't need to bow or salute in here. All things considered, I would say I am to defer to you in this situation as I would with my physician.”

“Understood, Your Majesty. I'll prepare now.” Jaune avoided eye contact and scuttled over to the hearth where a sizable cauldron was on the boil, numerous dark and arcane-looking objects floating in the rolling water. There, he lay the case down and shucked off the pack on his back, opening each in turn.

The first thing he produced was a cake of lye soap and a clean cloth. Dipping the cloth in the boiling water, he used it and wash his hands and arms up to the elbows. Then he extracted a pair of steel tongs and used them to fish a pair of thick rubberized gloves out of the cauldron.

Once he had dawned the gloves, he extracted an oil cloth from the boiling water and unrolled it atop a clean towel next to the Queen's seat. On top of this, he placed more devices from the cauldron and from his pack. The last one was a filtered mask which he strapped onto his face.

With all his tools arrayed, he stood up and turned to face the Queen. “I'm ready to begin, Your Majesty,” he announced.

“Very well. I put myself in your capable hands, Jaune.” Queen Melanie leaned forward to give Jaune access to a buttoned up panel in the back of the canvas gown.

It was here that Jaune bound himself in relatively new territory. Qrow was the one who normally undid the panel, usually while keeping up a patter with the Queen about old times or some random story or other from his nights crawling the pubs of Abierda.

On the nights where Qrow was getting drunk outside the castle rather than inside, Jaune was stuck tending experiments or cleaning, so he had no good stories so he remained quiet as he unsnapped the buttons. The panel fell open, revealing a small expanse of pale flesh marred by a brass plate surrounded by puckered scar tissue.

With practiced fingers, Jaune pried open a panel in the brass plate, revealing two nozzles, which he swabbed generously with antiseptic from a glass bottle. Then he picked up an empty glass syringe and fitted it in the bottom nozzle. “Alright Your Majesty, I'm about to drain the cavity.” He gestured toward a device consisting of a mouthpiece attached to a nickel flask. Normally it was his job to administer it while Qrow drained the cavity in the device serving as the Queen's left lung. “Madam Goodwitch, if you could...”

Before he could finish, a pale hand had already taken hold of it. He looked up to find himself transfixed by the kind green gaze of the Princess. “Please. Allow me. I've been watching this since before you were Qrow's apprentice after all.”

“T-thank you, Your Majesty,” he managed with a nervous duck of his head.

“Please,” she said with a tiny bit of laughter in her voice, “call me Pyrrha. I insist.”

He goggled at the familiarity. When they were small, the King and Queen allowed the Princess to play with the children of the staff, which included Jaune, whose mother was the Warden of Abierda's single forest. Pyrrha had mostly spent time with his sisters though and they'd barely spoken since those days, so he didn't understand where this was coming from.

“T-thank you, Pyrrha,” he corrected. The smile he got in return for that made him avert his eyes, feeling it wasn't actually meant for him. If Pyrrha had any reaction at all to that, she didn't show it, dutifully taking the contraption Jaune had indicated it and placing it in her mother's mouth. Without any further instruction, she twisted the flask, making a cracking sound followed by a hiss as chemicals mixed and gave off pure oxygen which Queen Melanie breathed in slowly and deeply.

One he made sure she was getting enough oxygen to replace what she'd be losing during the draining and replacement process, Jaune took the syringe in his hands and drew back the plunger. A thick, reddish brown liquid slowly began to fill the tube with a gurgling noise that once made Jaune's stomach turn.

It took a little over two minutes before the syringe was full and Jaune pulled it free of the nozzle. “Alright, the draining's done. Now all we need to do is replace the fluid.” He picked up a second syringe, ignoring the myriad other tools he would have needed in case of a complication up to and including the necessity of replacing the entire respiration mechanism. This one was full of a clear, pink-tinted fluid the consistency of syrup.

He fitted it into the other nozzle and began to slowly depressing the plunger. The Queen shuddered at the sensation of the cool substance spreading into her chest cavity. Without thinking, Jaune placed his free hand on her bare back to comfort her. “It will only be uncomfortable for a moment Your Majesty. Then you'll be breathing easy for another week.”

Another hand joined his on the Queen's back. Pyrrha's. “It's alright, Mother. It's just like all the other times. Just concentrate on breathing.”

Queen Melanie nodded and continued to take strong, deep breaths. Jaune continued depressing the plunger until the syringe was completely empty. Thereafter, he removed removed the syringe and replaced the panel, carefully re-buttoning the flap on the Queen's gown to restore her modesty.

“And done,” he finished, mimicking what Qrow always said before hurriedly setting about packing his equipment. The items from the cauldron when back into the cauldron; it would be sent back down to the laboratory later. Then he set about stowing the things from the case and pack.

Once again, he found he had help doing so in the form of the Princess. He fought down every urge he had to scramble away from her and merely say, “Y-you don't have to do this, Your—Pyrrha.” After all, he'd handled that part on his own for the past seven years, since before he even understood why they boiled their instruments.

“That doesn't mean you have to,” she replied nonchalantly, handing him the tongs and an assembly used to replace the nozzles in the Queen's back-port.

“M-much appreciated.” he mumbled, inciting another gentle laugh from her. The Princess was really vexing him today; being overly familiar and helpful one minute, finding humor in his discomfort the next. Not that he could confront her on it. Apprentice of to Qrow or not, she could say the word and he would be out of the castle if not the city and principality.

Pyrrha continued helping him pack things away for a few moments before her mother interrupted. “Thank you, Jaune. I believe Qrow chose well for his replacement and apprentice. Have you given any thought to what you'll do when he steps down at year's end?”

“What I'll do, You Majesty?” Jaune asked, confused. He and Qrow had had that conversation. At the start of the new year, Qrow would step down with a recommendation to the King and Queen that Jaune take his place. Since there was no one in Abierda who had as much expertise in alchemy or who had studied under Qrow, there was really no other choice but Jaune. He'd always expected it to happen that way, but as much as he referred to him as 'old man', he was barely in his fifties if that and Jaune fully expected him to be in his position for years to come.

“The position of Court Alchemist is a noble title,” explained the Queen. “When you take Qrow's place, you'll also be taking up all related privileges and obligations that come with it. At year's end both you and your family will be elevated to nobility and you will need to prepare yourself for the change of lifestyle.”

That hadn't occurred to Jaune at all. Mostly because Qrow ignored all the obligations that came with being a nobleman. The only times he ever attended court was when there was an actual matter that required his expertise.

“I-I'll give that due thought, Your Majesty. Thank you.” Mercifully, Pyrrha handed him his now-closed and secured pack, meaning he could take his leave. Giving the three women a polite goodbye, he left with as much haste as propriety allowed.

Once back on the private staircase that would take him straight back down to the laboratory, Jaune allowed himself to breath a sigh, releasing all the tension of the last half hour slowly ebbing away. No matter how many times he'd gone into the Queen's chambers, he never got used to it. Goodwitch alone was enough to fray his nerves, but add the Queen and Princess and he felt like he was dying by the end of each session.

This time was worse. Not only had he been expected to perform a lifesaving procedure on the most powerful woman in the country, Pyrrha—The Princess—he corrected himself had been acting especially disconcerting this time. He worried over that. It felt like she knew something he didn't and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Hello again.”

Letting out a terrified squawk, Jaune tried to turn around and flee at the same time, ending up stumbling the last three stairs to the next landing and finding himself looking up at the woman who had been in his thoughts to recently.

“Y-your Majesty!” he exclaimed breathlessly.

“Pyrrha,” she corrected him, once again hiding a laugh behind her hand.

“P-Pyrrha,” he parroted dumbly, finding nothing else intelligent to say.

She removed her hand from her mouth, revealing a gentle smile. “Sorry to startle you, and I know you didn't expect me to approach you here, but I needed to talk to you in private.”

Jaune felt his face grow hot as he took another step back and felt the pack on his back bump into the wall behind him. “A-abut what?”

Closing her eyes, Pyrrha seemed just as nervous as he was as she mustered courage. “I need to ask you something important. You... you are aware of Qrow's past, correct?”

He knew he had to tread carefully here. While he knew a great deal about Qrow's past, not all of it was public knowledge even to the highest halls of power. “I know some. There's a few tales he's told me about being friends with your father...”

“Not about that,” Pyrrha interrupted. “About the Chemical Soldier. Has he told you about that?”

So she did know. And given the context in which he'd left her and the Queen...

“Only about how it ruined his life,” Jaune admitted. “And gods know how many times he's forbade me from taking up that mantle.”

Pyrrha frowned slightly. “I am not here to ask you to do that, Jaune. But for the record: do you have the knowledge and materials to do what he did?”

He hesitated a moment, but those big, open, soulful eyes of his dragged the truth out of him. “Yes. He still has everything: spare parts, schematics—everything--locked up in a trunk in the laboratory. But if you don't want me to...”

The Princess descended the stairs to come stand on equal footing with him, placing her hands on both his shoulders. Those same eyes that begged the truth from him were lit form within by determination and need that made him shiver.

“Because Jaune Arc, I need you—the principality needs you—to turn me into the new Chemical Soldier.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Chemical Soldier. Like Not Your Saint George, this is a RWBY AU set in my World of Ere setting. For those of you who have read Rune Breaker, the events of this story take place within a few years of the main story of that series.
> 
> The theme of this one is steampunk/dungeonpunk superheroes with the trademark Arkos romantic subplot. Unlike NYSG, this one will involve a much larger selection of RWBY characters. We've already got Qrow and Glynda in strong supporting roles with mentions of Ruby and Yang and we'll soon have Nora and Ren. I've already introduced my AU-verse versions of Pyrrha's parents over in Game On and now we have an addition of Cardin's father, Jay (as in Blue Jay – color rules still apply) who will be playing a bit of a role ala Commissioner Gordon.
> 
> Expect lots of action scenes, build montages and political intrigue.
> 
> Now, this is a trial balloon for this story. It won't update regularly until Arc Reaction ends, but I was very excited by it and wanted people to get a taste of it.
> 
> Please don't complain that this isn't an Uber!Jaune story or that Pyrrha gets part of the hero role. I got enough of that at the start of Arc Reaction (along with allegations that it WAS an Uber!Jaune story) and... it's not going to change what I'm doing. Threatening not to read isn't going to change what I write. The first rule of writing well is to write what you'd want to read and I'm more interested in developing power and relationships over raw wish-fulfillment. I'm not even saying there's something wrong with those—hell you can see I have quite a few in my favorites—but that's not what I like writing.
> 
> Other criticisms, such as whether this AU is too far removed from canon like Not Your Saint George will be cheerfully taken under advisement. This story is admittedly verging very close to original fiction, but the core characters are so heavily influenced by Pyrrha, Jaune and Qrow, I felt it was still in the realm of fanfic, but I understand if others don't feel that way.
> 
> And remember, this story like Arc Reaction, Not Your Saint George, and Game On can be expedited via my Pat/reon (in my profile), making it the very next story I update instead of my next planned update.
> 
> Otherwise, stay awesome folks!


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